


A Mandalorian on Coruscant

by Jesse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Pole Dancing, anyway paz is a pole dancer on coruscant now, but i will not apologise for this content, honestly this just came out of nowhere on twitter, this is all one hundred percent self indulgent ooc fanfic and i do not accept criticism, you just have to deal with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27638527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesse/pseuds/Jesse
Summary: Paz Vizsla is a dancer at a club on Coruscant. While he always commands an enraptured audience, there's two in the crowd that stand out more than the rest.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cara Dune/Paz Vizsla
Kudos: 15





	A Mandalorian on Coruscant

**Author's Note:**

> dont look at me i just want to write things that i like

It’s that deep kind of bass that seemed to completely envelop your very heart and squish it between numbing digits. The kind that swallows your ears and spits them back out to leave your very cranium feeling like it’s ringing inside. The **good** kind, y’know?

Cloud Nine is a little bit off the grid on Coruscant. It isn’t hidden underground or anything like that; you just simply have to know exactly how to get there in order to get there. Sounds simple, right? Maybe. Either you know someone who knows how to get there, or you simply do not go. I mean, are you going to go ask an employee for directions? Gotta find them first, idiot. Now, there are a few people, and I do stress the word few, that have discovered Cloud Nine simply by sheer accident, but they ARE few, and they are far between.

It’s always rather packed inside. For being more of a subtle club, its popularity is nothing to sneeze at. People from all walks of life are welcome, provided they know how to get there, and as long as no one stirs up trouble. There have been a few incidents in the past with a few folks having to get thrown out on their asses, and having holos of their faces permanently plastered inside the establishment. How embarrassing. 

Tonight is no exception. The music is good, the bass even better as previously mentioned. In some cases, the bass is all anyone really needs. Well, maybe not the guests, but rather the entertainment. It’s always much more of a delight to watch someone dance with the rhythm of the vibrations in the floor, letting it guide their entire body from head to toe. Anyone can dance, sure, but not anyone can command a crowd’s attention with it. There are a few of those dancers tonight who can, and it’s clear who each of them are by the small crowds clustered around their personal stages. It’s never to make any of the other dancers feel bad, but then again, maybe they need to work a little harder so that it won’t happen to them anymore. Chop chop.

On this very fine night in the heart of deeper Coruscant, Cloud Nine is busy as usual, but enduring a bit more of a crowd problem than it would on normal nights. Every so often, the owner of the club, KK, will offer discounts on cocktails to anyone who shows more love than usual to his employed dancers. It’s not like losing money on the discounted booze seems to bother KK, since he seems more occupied with lining his pockets with the extra dough he clips from his entertainment crew at the end of the night, so it all works out pretty well for him in the end. If you’re a popular performer, losing a bit of extra cash won’t bother you either; you already have more than enough for whatever it is you feel the need to have a job like this for.

And on this very fine night, there are a few people in particular that stand out. Not in a way that draws attention to them, but people do read penned verbal nonsense for a reason, don’t they? You wouldn’t be here otherwise.

One of these people in question is Din Djarin. He looks a bit lost, and a whole lot of awkward. The two friends that dragged him here have all but melted into the crowd, leaving him all by his lonesome, and he’s far too lazy to try to find them to ask for directions home. He wanders the floor, idly holding one of the tooth-rotting, candy-flavoured cocktails that the poor bartender has ever had to create. Can he even taste the booze in it? Probably not. Then again, that was probably the point. It has a rather syrupy consistency, so that should tell you all you need to know. Not like he’ll take his helmet off anyway.

The other person is Cara Dune. Unlike Din, she’s rather tipsy and is chatting it up with other people, almost commanding her own crowd with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit. Not to say that her small audience isn’t enjoying themselves, because they seem to rather like her charm, but Cara isn’t what folks come to Cloud Nine for, unfortunately. She seems to be a bit miffed when some of her attracted crowd deserts her, and they only do so because the music is getting louder, and the dancers are gearing up for the main event. He doesn’t care. He shouldn’t be ignored.

Eyes sweeping the floor, she notices a Mandalorian standing off by himself, and Cara makes a beeline for him. “Some crowd, huh?” She said loudly over the music, both a reference to the crowd and a salty jab at the people who abandoned her.

Din sticks his straw up into his helmet and takes a slow sip of his drink, rolling the syrupy mess around his tongue a few times before swallowing. “Sure.”

Cara continues to chatter while the dancers finish getting into their places, and Din simply stands there and listens because he doesn’t know how to excuse himself. It’s apparent to Din that Cara is used to being the center of attention, and it makes him wonder why she would even be in a place like this. Then again, Din doesn’t know why he’d let his friends drag him here, either. He goes from casually sipping at his drink to nursing it, since he’s already accepted the fact that he won’t be able to get away from this annoying ex-trooper to get back to the bar for another one.

Eventually, Cara ends up closing her mouth as the lights dim themselves a bit, the neons now breaking out and strobes doing their thing in the corners of the room.

It’s really rather fascinating to watch a Mandalorian dance, especially when using a pole to do so. There are just some ways that an armored body is never meant to bend, but every single one of these dancers has a body that the laws of physics must have neglected to take into account for that issue. There’s seven dancers total, with four of them being lithe female twi’leks. There’s also a male twi’lek, but his body is a bit smoother and compact, making him look pleasantly small. A togruta and a human female make up the other two, and it’s the Mandalorian who has taken the frontmost section of the performance area. He’s really rather pretty to look at, with his polished blue beskar. The accents that line his armor catch the neon lights in certain angles and it almost makes them look like someone’s dragged a highlighter across his body.

Every twist he makes causes everyone watching him to predict that his broad limbs are going to either clip or full on smack the chrome pole that he’s dancing around, but they never do. He’s careful. He knows every single inch of his body, and he uses it like a weapon.

It’s also no wonder that this Mandalorian is the one who commands the attention of both Cara and Din. The cocktail in Din’s hand is even more neglected as he watches in complete fascination. As for Cara, well, she’s almost enjoying having someone else engross her for a moment.

She pokes at Din’s forearm, before nodding up towards the dancer. “You ever seen shit like this anywhere before?”

“I wouldn’t call it that; I think it’s pretty good,” Din replies flatly, not taking his eyes off the Mandalorian, and it only made Cara sink her teeth into her lip. She’d meant that, obviously.

With the neons glaring harshly onto the blue-tinted beskar on his chest, the Mandalorian almost seems to be glowing on the stage. His chest casts a unique, icy tint to his helmet from under his chin, manipulated by the way he turns his head and the shadows that touch each edge. He looks like he’s enjoying himself, judging by the carefree way he’s been moving ever since he started his performance, and sometimes it almost looks like he’s quietly giggling. It’s sort of cute. Maybe he would have something in common with Cara, which would be more or less enjoying being in the spotlight.

The way he lifts himself up onto the pole and performs from there is different from the others, and that’s only because the others aren’t wearing a full set of armor. The human is nimble and quick, the togruta is slow and deliberate, and the four twi’leks are a pleasant mix of the two. As for the Mandalorian, he’s once again careful. The way his metal-clad body almost looks fluidic as he dances is something that not anyone could ignore. Short bursts of hot air can be felt if you’re close enough to the stage as the flier feathers his own jetpack to keep himself in motion on the pole while he dances, allowing him to twist and contort himself even further. This is nothing but a pleasant sight for the guests, to say the least. But they’re all living beings, and even the togruta has to let herself down after a set. 

Not the Mandalorian.

His jetpack allows him to manipulate his very center of gravity, relieving the pressure of his weight off his hands while his body fluidly glides around the pole, even when pressed between his legs. It’s a clear advantage that he has, but then again, being a bounty hunter who performs at a club like this already starts out at a disadvantage simply because of their profession. It would stand to reason that he found a way to, rather literally, elevate his position at Cloud Nine by simply using what he already had at his disposal.

This also tells Din, Cara, and probably everyone else watching exactly why this Mando takes center stage. He is, without a doubt, the pride and joy of KK. How that guy got his hands on someone so talented is beyond anyone, really.

Poking at Din once again, Cara leans over and says “Hey, if I can get that dancer to come home with me, you wanna come with?”

Din blinks, as if thinking that he hadn’t heard correctly, and then taking a few minutes to form a proper, thoughtful, but otherwise short response. 

“Sure.”

Lips curling into a smile that is far from genuinely pleasant, Cara waves her hand excitedly at the Mandalorian when he twists back around, his head facing in their direction. “Hey, hey!!” she calls out, knowing full well that she wouldn’t be able to be heard, “You should come home with us tonight!!” 

As expected, the dancer’s quick gaze just barely glides over him, denoting the lack of attention. Now rolling his eyes, Din shakes his head, taking another sip of his drink, and inwardly laughing at how much of an idiot this ex-trooper is. At least he’s off the hook for the potential hookup. Not like he would have minded, but only if he could leave without it being awkward the morning after. 

The performance continues for a little while longer, with Din politely tolerating more of Cara’s chatting and other such nonsense, but he finds himself not minding as much as he had initially. 

They end up leaving Cloud Nine together, Cara still drunkenly running her mouth the entire while. While Din is still feeling incredibly awkward, he finds the potential situation of running into his two friends and explaining his absence to be an even worse one than this.

Neither of them make it very far before they hear the sound of running feet behind them, followed by a loud cry of “Hey, wait!!” Both of them turn around, only to have both of them go from 0-100 in the shock department as it turns out to be the Mandalorian dancer. He catches up to them, chest heaving a little bit from his earlier performance. Or from running. Maybe both.

“You invited me to come with you, but you left before you could give me your address,” he says to Cara, and then glancing over at Din.

The two slowly look at each other in dead silence, neither of them having expected this to actually have worked. Cara blinks, and then Din just shrugs, quietly announcing how little he cares at this point.

“Well, if you’re already off, we can just escort you,” Cara winks, offering his arm to the Mandalorian, “It would be a shame for such a pretty hunter to be walking out all alone.” She’s rather surprised when the dancer readily takes her arm, still beaming away. 

“I’d like that, thanks.”

Now feeling like she can take on the world, Cara presents her other arm to Din, who takes it just to keep Cara from whining if he doesn’t. “By the way,” she says as they start walking, “I don’t know either of your names. Just saying.”


End file.
